


Great Exaggeration

by ARandomRock



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Allusions to Spoilers, Both Manga and Anime Spoilers, Clowns, Cosplay, Delusionshipping, Developing Relationship, F/M, Magic Tricks, Needles, No Marik, Nothing Explicit but close, References to Forlornshipping, References to Lewd Conduct, References to Suicide, Semi-Biographicial, Sewing Mistakes, Strippershipping, Wholesomeness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24213859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARandomRock/pseuds/ARandomRock
Summary: [Made for The Lonely Ship Rare Pair Event]Sometimes, the little mistakes lead to such greater shows...or can unpick every stitch.Snippets from the life and times of France's great Pandora the Conjurer and Catherine the Assistant. From petty street tricks, to to collecting cards from suits to trying to reach Industrial Illusions in Las Vegas.The ambition to raise so high he could never see the rock bottom ever again, this was their turnabout! No matter how much Kaibcorp would transform the landscape, even they would bend to the great Pandora's tricks and immortalise Catherine alongside his Dark Magician!That's...was the dream, far away from wars in Egypt. That...was the goal.
Relationships: Catherine/Pandora the Conjurer | Arkana
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4
Collections: Fake Outs & Mishaps





	1. Magicians

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> I want to thank Sithabel for allowing my to be in this event and my pitch.  
> I...am a sucker for minor characters, I apologise.  
> This story combines both the Manga's duel with the anime's backstory. You don't need to have read the manga to understand this fic, you'll miss out on one detail that is labelled with a TW at the top.

There is a certain crushing feeling when you are the bottom ring of a pantomime that disguises itself as a circus. Petty tricks on the streets in order to hand out one flyer that would end up tossed away while still in your eyesight. Cold bitter streets when the weather turned bad and the lunchtime rush died to silence. It was in these downtrodden times when the strong man and the clown would frown and light a cigarette. Yet these brief moments in the rain were a chance for the Magician of the group. The streets of Paris were filled with a hundred and one poorly dressed and tattered peddlers and performers to the point that tropes could intermix and change at a notice. Mimes with exhausted faces puffing cigarettes, sitting on a table. The accordian player whose pipes had begun to sound as winded as they were. Even his clown colleague would see the young Magician scarper away from duty and resign himself to just lounging with his arm over the stack of flyers.  
Under this guise he sweeps away down into the old french revolution tunnels, to find his little contact. A seamstress who he would rejoice in. Her handkerchiefs were embroidered in their dreams, one stitch at a time. A hum and a sing to lighten up the small walkway, to the beat of the needle bouncing in and out. He’d laugh with her about his employer’s terrible printing, how disgusting the title was. Her response was always less cynical, with a gleam and a tune to continue she’d tell him not to be bitter at the world. With a sitch or two she’d tell him that the boss has letters to all the local theaters that he might not have time to perfect the letters. This brick wall of razor sharp kindness was an intoxicating wine that numbed the blows of tourists who would ask if he was a mime, or a spitter who mixed flem and curses. Brief hours of fleeting eyes in the torment of lunch.  
Then at night he’d perform, with an assistant with no energy. Lost within her own world of trouble, knowing that her skimpy outfit was going to keep her father’s troupe alive. He’d perform with an opposite resolve of showmanship, every night scanning the crowd in worry that the seamstress lady would ever see him in such dire straits. Attempting to put on a smile as his face, sometimes lovingly commented by tourists, to be coated in the clown’s ice cold pie. On some nights, for him, he never knew whether that clown had thrown the pie harder or that the work strains made his skin weaker.  
There was the time however, where a different trope who had spied on him, asked him repeatedly.  
“Why are you wasting the time with the big man’s tourist trap?”  
Spine straightened at the comment, with a turned head as if a hare hearing the fox. The Magician patted away the tourists who were still inspecting his watch for damage and a trap. He responded with a generic line plucked from every show he’d ever done about the sunshine of smiles performances caused. The man laughed, stating that with his level of misdirection, a career in thieving off American tourists would make more money and be more honourable to themselves. Shaking his head the Magician’s Circle had a code of honour he had to follow if he ever wanted to take his name to the highest of screens. Impressed as he was, the complimenting man took a flyer, then said that a genuine but complacent man will always still be the fool. With that, he vanished as the Magician’s hands hit twelve-thirty.  
This was an immense and shocking turn of events that was spoken with bated breath. The seamstress simply noted and giggled at the enthusiasm he was finally showing. Stunned at her laughter at his story and events, supposedly not mistaking the gravitas of such a rare compliment. Placing the needle and embroidery thing on her lap, she picked up his over gesticulating hand. With locked eyes she retold him a story of his magic, at that from that day she believed he could make all of Paris vanish under her handkerchief.  
It was a short, tiny memory that for the Magician he had almost entirely forgotten. Forwarding, looking and steadfast on burying the past as hard as possible, it was almost a surprise to see someone cling onto a happy memory. A simple misdirection that got her bracelet into the very first handkerchief she ever gave it. Originally she panicked thinking he was a street urchin thief, but his own shocked surprise at her panic warmed her up. What was offense from both of them, turned into laughs, and with it, the first handkerchief was given and their secret meeting placed chrisained,  
With the newfound strength and charisma blessed with a freshly shown handkerchief with a message of encouragement forever stitched into it. The Magician was renewed. He needed a newer stage, somewhere he could let the Seamstress sit in the crowd and be proud about it. For his sake...for his mother’s sake. The past cannot haunt him into just accepting the status quo day in day out. This lull had to end. With this voice he called a crowd, picked through them, their watches, their phones, pulled them through water glasses and their ears. One by one, searching through anyone who spoke French strongly or worse a suit. The rest of the week after receiving the blessing from the seamstress he’d speed into the busier parts of the street, trying to bump out the way the hagglers, the souriver peddlers and the scam photographers. Everyday trying to find that one lead the man dropped on the ground.  
It was only in the closing days of the show when the clown of the trope snapped at his smile and called him a gaudy kid that the Magician pulled the very necktie from just the right person. He looked with a vicious look at first but seeing the gaudy look and honest smile, they stroke up with tiny conversation.


	2. Handkerchiefs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Shutterstock meme of man holding woman's hand while looking at the other woman but it's Dark Magician holding Pandora's hand]

As it was then as it is now. Every intermission the blessing from the Seamstress was gifted with a peck on the cheek and a folded handkerchief in his pocket. She had begun to even worm into his costume, with his top hat whose ribbon had been replaced with a pilfered one from her work. A suit less second hand and more first class. IT was not a headline act, it was not the grand stages. Yet he was sitting in the dressing room, not a locker room filled with for-ghire smiles. Given props, audience plants, lighting, just a few little adjustments. How sweet it was to be a Magician with an audience who had expression, not wary eyes.   
This is where his hunger began bit by bit. No more did he feel threatened about talking excitedly with her. No more did he dread every time his name was introduced. There he would see his own reflection in the crowd, each one of them the seamstress clapping him on. IF the golden spotlight was his mother’s light guiding him forward then the Seamstress was his wings up. He’d talak so romantically fluffy to his peers to the point even they became nauseous. HEll even the white handkerchiefs were beginning to be dyed a deep purple from the happiness he spewed.   
It was complacency, yes, he held the desire to move up and become a headline act but there was a grip of fear. Here he had money to live, he drove past the sad clown handing out flyers instead of walking. Flowers could be delivered to the Seamstress’s workplace to the point her workstation would become overwhelmed. A comfortable, soft life for him, but life wasn’t just for him. He handpicked life for himself over another before that led to him nearly losing his own. Not again. He thought about saving on the side, just enough to extend out a hand of invitation.  
It wasn’t quiet enough. This stage was seasonal, not daily. The stunts were bigger but turning petty trickery into illusions that required props and lighting. Anything he wanted to push his craft came out of his wages and meant a smaller slot.   
There was only one choice for the Magician. He must--  
For him however, thee ws another option presented to him by the Seamstress. A half-joke as the Magician sprang cards between his hands, warming himself up. Using his own trick against him, pulled from his pile he’s favourite card   
“Why don’t you play the card game anymore?”  
A hand wave as he dismissed it as a silly passtime on the side, leaning back in the dressing-room chair and shuffling the cards.However caught in his reflection just for a second he wondered how good he could be...A slight of hand trick here, a change d card there, a deck built around illusions and traps. He threw it out and turned back to the Seamstress who was lovingly fluffing and pulling small imperfections off his hat.  
“With all the Kaibacorp technology nowadays, simple poker parlor tricks are made null and void.”  
Once again though, crowned him with the hard burning optimism scaled his defeat into oblivion.  
“There are many men like you who prefer the traditional methods. With all of Seto Kaiba’s magic holograms, people still come to see magic shows done by a real person.”  
Standing up from his seat, the Magician held her hands and kissed her on a cheek, before asking her to make sure his deck is then well shuffled for the times ahead. She laughed and sat in his chair, spinning around in it going through art of the cards.  
“Dark Magician, huh? Does he have an assistant too? Or did you pick the solitary wolf Magician, my dear?”  
Her message never received during the performance, but after bidding her goodnight he had vanished with a sense of urgency. The contortionist who could slip in any box or chair was as slippery and slimy even without her talents. A half empty dimly lit bistro, she said on the backstreet where tourists do not stand. Dressed in white and blue, a handsome.dapper dove in with ehr contortionist by his side. Watched her slide around the table greeting with a harlot’s joke through them all. Through the bead curtain where smoke cling to clothes and ceilings alike.She introduced him as one of her own, and took potshots about him running a simple Magician deck. Outdated and mockery, they cried. Spell counters are confusing and new wave they quickly followed half into a game. The goal however was not merely to win a couple duels for a handful of Euros to pocket no. This was a time when clean friendly infantilized Magician needed to pull stunts with his life. Slipping a card there, a card here. The perfect hand within three turns It was a build up you see to pinch their very cards themselves. One single Blue or Red Eyes could fetch a fair price. A stolen slipped card as a brutish Parisian-drawl slurred through his cigar would be the perfect target for this. Enough gemmed rings to forge a royal tiara, drumstick fingers with yellow nails from pinching the ends of cigarettes for a lifetime. HE ozzed more slim than the younger men here’s hair gels. A man like that keeps his change loose so you hear his burden of wealth. The seamstress who shuffled his deck and practiced the few tricks he passed down to her could smell the smoke cling to them. The slime left from shady dealers made the cards ooze together in her hands. Sids warn by dozens of games. She passed her worries over to be safe and careful, but there was an edge of confidence now to his voice. A little more than just the reignited ethunism of taking the medium stage, now there was raw confidence eliminating the way he would smile and flick his finger off his brow. Pulling his trap card from the deck he said simply with a beaming grin.  
“I am blessed by the entire Magician’s Circle watching over me.”  
The Slimeball grunted and grumbled how the Magician was too clean and played it like a children’s card game with his dress and attitude. Splitting his own deck into piles, the Magician was interrupted by the cigar tap of his opponent.  
“Yer will bend yer cards with riflin’” His heavy handed overhand shuffling struck a chord with the Magician. Swiping his hands over the top of the cards  
“Oh? I am a weaver, I am not a gunman.” Sliding the cards together, the cards slide into each other alternating. Purposely making sure there was slight pressure on the right side so the top card was where it should be. Pharaoh might have been banned at the poker tables, but who would have such time to remember old traditional tricks of the trade?  
The Magician looked dead serious at the man, spitting a high number of euros on this game. The slimeball looked up with a stained glass face, and watched as the cigar was placed down with cards through the peeling palms of dirty hands. Even the notes were struck in a tin with joined thumb. It was then as he leaned up and confirmed the bed the Magician saw the seams of his pocket, a metal tin duel box with it’s lid half hanging out. A hard to reach area for a simple pick pocket, a place where you can’t just move their eyes to slip in and out. A further distraction would be needed, but that came with its own consequences.  
Accuse him of cheating? Accuse him of fake money?  
No, he lacked the charisma for the former, he lacked the physical strength for the latter. He was neither an evil genius, actual Magician or had any sort of divine interventions.   
No...He had to be the best Magician in the damn world to pull off a trick no one would ever see but all feel the ripples of…!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faro/Pharaoh. Yami’s shuffling comment never sat right with me with the english translation. You can say perhaps it was about caring for the cards but also that rifling doesn’t really bend or damage cards. What I think the intent was, was to show “Weaving” which in France is known as “Faro” or “Pharaoh” It’s a type of binary shuffling that a lot of Magicians ended up using to count/predict cards. Hence it being known as “The Technique” in more modern times.I wonder if this was a mistranslation in the anime or just a random mistake in the anime transfer, because if not Yami is just being pedantic for no real reason.


	3. Misdirection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pandora thinks himself as a Robin Hood, when in fact he's just showing cracks.

That night the game had ticked over nicely. Basic monsters but rare one with almost two thousand attacks that could beat down on it’s own half the chumps in this place. Yet there was no consistency in type. Names with golden letters but the cohesiveness of a fake card that would peel in half. There was no movement against the Magician’s bottomless traps, nothing to stop the reflected damage of the Magical Cylinder back at him. A monster stolen to use as tribute for his own soul placed into that Dark Magician. Peeling through the other monsters with vague rare equipment cards and dead draw hands. White Magical Hat tipped and vanished one by one the cards in his hand with a cheeky smile. A vanishing act on both field and hand! The smaller Magician working his way filtering through his hands. He believed in any silly word the Seamstress said about the cards looking like his outfit, or that damned white hat she once crowned him. His blood boiled into almost pure confidence and aggression as he completed the game with a look smug that the opponent’s face had twisted into anger and sweated. What man did not know was that it was not just the conrotornist who could move fast and flexible o as the hand grabbed across the table, just like a safety practice the Magician pulled his body from the chair to the side, becoming parallel with the man that was his chance as the bigger brawliner’s muscles were outstretched the coat dangled.  
“A sore loser? You can keep your bet if it hurts your pride so much.”  
A curse word thrown back as the other members of the Bistro, a hussle of accusations and.thrown about explanations but as soon the opponent turned and swore at him to grab the Magician's lapel, he saw but one small frame of opportunity. Just then the coat swung around and his breath was in his spewing curses. Then just then, the glimmer of the deck tin shrt and with two fingers slipped a couple cards into his own. Just two fingers in and out then pushing the shoulder of the man as a cover. Held back by other Bistro attendees the pair was split up and the Contortionist split the pot of earnings and passed it over to the Magician before telling them to royally get out. With it though he took cards from almost every pocket on the way out, bumping into them on purpose, freigning some half bitten drunkenness.  
Outside in the alleyway that led down to the canals, the Magician peaked at his winnings, golden names, useful cards. Some beaters to be sold on, but one card, oh the pretty Gemini Elf. Another spellcaster for his own private Magician’s circle. Even one of them had hair just like his beloved Seamstress. Perhaps out of the winnings, he’d keep this just to the side. A reminder of the two women that pushed him through the rain.  
He had tried to explain to the Seamstress in the dressing room the next evening of what went on the night before. She loved and indulged his slightly exaggerated fantasies and gently stroked his face while nodding at the cards he showed her. Each one she looked at and asked how much it was worth. For all the times he indulged her constant complaints and morning of the factory and tailoring, even though he could not tel the difference between a cross stitch and crochet. He showed the Gemini Elf card and she held it up to the light, and blushed a little. Wishing that she was as skinny as limber as the twins. A throwaway joke that Magician’s assistant needs only to know the ropes, not be a stick figure for the model catwalk was caught with sly eyes.  
“Is that an invitation?”  
One day, one day. He simply laughed it off but in his heat perhaps that was the true next step. Their own mainline show with her as his assistant, perhaps’ they take a break during the winter months to see the Northern Lights. Yet these dreams had to be picked up with the folded handkerchief in his pocket. There was a performance to be done tonight and a broker to see in the morning. A once off event he said.  
But there was a thrill with the danger.  
Just like that man had told him before vanishing into the distance, when you are nameless Magic In the code could barely hear or see your voice. This was his justification as he took another table at a restaurant in the thick layers of southern Paris. The men were dressed in regal costumes and their daughters and sons played cards with constant spies over the top of them. Parents interfere, training their child to be slightly better to win the effect of the big five and Kaibacorp. They all interlinked to grab pieces of projects in the line. The Magician spent a couple nights, just listening to the people, for one pipeline that could be taken to the source. It came in the form of a bored long haired emptied eyes younger girl whose dad breathed down her neck every time.  
“You need to get better, darling! You need to get into that Academy they are going to build at the start! It will make us both so great…!”  
She played with fancy, freshly printed new cards with effects so long that even her breath ran out trying to say them. Her fist in her cheek as she beat another opponent, head on the desk as her dad yelled after a loss. For the Magician, if he came prepared, this would be the target.  
Sitting opposite her while her Father was brokering a deal, she told him she’s not dueling, but her eyes swept awake and the springing of flowers. A simple parlor trick of a few flowers. HEr eyes widened at the sight of a nice gesture that wasn’t just pure card games.  
Then, he was in.  
She told him in a bored dreary tone, who played with cards and who was good or not. He’d just listen to her and pick at her young mind of the rich denizens who were always arguing. Every conversation one of her cards was taken and replaced with a spare or a token. After gaining the information, the Magician would perform a small watch trick or pull from their neck and guess the card, slowly exchanging the rarest and freshest in the process.   
Night in, Night out before or between performances the briefcase ticket would be filled up. The seamstress would laugh and question what the suits even did during the day. She’d tell him about the rumours the elder ladies would about with holograms from Japan, the mysterious vanishing of the original painters of the cards. For them this small card game on the side became a business, a side hop to eventually have enough. Sometimes he’s buy her the odd fresh material or new dress, but when the gold mind came in, a rare Blue Eyes White Dragon was placed in the briefcase, He spun it to the seamstress.  
“Come with me. Become my Assistant. Let us sew and perform our own stage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stealing trick is based off of a British Magician named Dynamo. He’s interesting to watch. And while the timelines don’t match but in my head the little girl gave me Alexis vibes. White Magical Hat was used here because of personal bias. Pandora before the accent also wore a white suit in the anime so it all connects together. Gemini Elf here is used because it doesn't fit the Assistant (As Dark Magician Girl doesn’t exist / isn’t known about.) however it fits the era and also would activate Magician’s Circle (Or Magician’s Unite. Whatever that trap card is called that the AI always seems to ping in the GBA games.)


	4. Montage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Pandora flaunts Health and Safety for the sake of romanticism.

At first he performed that night with a broken and confused heart. She hadn’t responded with a ethusatic yes, but a cautious we’ll see. Someone with lights and stars in his eyes was becoming slowly blind the struggling roots they had once come from. Tiny bed sets on bare minimum wage, sometimes low on the account of show “tips”, all that was beginning to blur away. For the young seamstress whose talents were always locked in a room, to drop everything and whisk away with a Magician on stolen cards and illusions was a story from a fairy tale. She did buckle though, not without a row from her mother though and her entire acceptance was shown by two suitcases stacked in The Magician’s dressing room.   
Well, it started with just a couple of suitcases.  
Then some furniture boxes.   
Then his dressing room chair had to be stuck up for a 3 boxes prop freshly sealed.  
By the time the paperwork for the small terraced house with an unkempt garden went through, the small card that the Magician had finally raised money for before was strapped and armed to the teeth with card-gotten gains. Yet on one of these trips, the Seamstress posed a question to him.  
“Don’t you have props to practice with at the theatre?”  
Smiling and wagging his finger over the steering wheel, he posed her the most damning of questions, taking out his old black and white fake wand for street performing.  
“Let me train you to be my assistant.”  
A blush in the car and a raucous laugh between the two in the car, but she clasped to her chest the want and as she went to say she would like to, plastic flowers s[rang out the top of it and uppercutted her face. No pain, just startled at it. The pair laughed and she waved the flowers about before looking down the tube to see the mechanism behind it. Examining for some sort of button or indent on the want. A curious, already attuned mind who’d from that day forth would pick at the rops like stitches.  
The stitching on the back of the chair where she was to pop out would be resigned and resewn with a more regal cushion pattern to hide from the sides where she came out. Stretches with her legs out in the garden became breaks as she would continue embroidering work so her already thin limbs would become limber. Small fusions would be stuffed and knitted from recycled and thrown out materials from her workplace to the padd the inside of props. Every tool the Magician had that was metal and barred was painted or coated in colour and cloth.   
There was a smal feeling with the Magician that this was all a bit informal and breaking tradition but, after recording a couple sessions to see how the repeated tricks look, everything was hidden and padded away. As long as the middle box was shown to the crowd, there was no sign of any comfort additions to the main prop they practice. When it came to knives and blades, she’d delicately clean and joke with them. No matter how many times she gave a slight worried look when they practiced, she’d throw a joke that if he didn’t watch the plains correctly the saw would go through him next. It was a back and forth between them. As the Magician swept away the autumn leaves, watching the Assistant do stretches on the small bench that had pilfered from that damned Bistro in the night, there was a hopeful belief in him that they were both working one to push this forward.  
The banter made the practice easier as the months wore on, small tricks to start with like popping out a chair, first with the back removed to get used to the removesments. Then using a blanket over the back to reduce the space. Every bashed head was nursed with a head pat and hug. Every clipped foot was nursed with an ice pack. During the winter period when the theaters ran on minimal service, not a second of every non-rain day was taken to practice. They even had a few jokes with an old dartboard about throwing knives, but that was neither of theirs specialisity. The Magician could not even throw a Duel Monster to the table accurately without it spiralling across the desk and off the other end. Turns were taken to cook meals as they began to place their skills in a blender, everything done in almost a tandem. Not with dreams of being a sickening romantic movie, but the fact they needed more than just casual trust or affection for each other, but a further connection to the point that they could reach each other’s minds. The Magician’s hair grew darker and thickers, hers grew lighter and curlier, always in a swirling balance of each other. He’d build the stage, she'd stitch it all together..  
By the time the new year had passed and it was time to burn off the turkey fat and mountains of chocolate wrappers they had accumulated, the Assistant had begun to start stitching herself in and out of props with ease. She was already thin and nimbled from always battling the sewing machines and presses in the factory, but what once was dances with her fingers were now beginning to eb dances with her body. Their dup performances were smoother and they’d watch back tapes together in the evening, trading between each other what they could work. One promo tape is all they needed, something slightly dangerous. Something she could do with a smile and taste and perform. Getting her to smile, point her toes and correct her stance. Infuriating final details that might have cracked a couple hairs but one tape.  
One tape of a trick to show that she was as capable as any…  
Or at least, that’s how he thought every night how it’d go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t want to focus on the adding so much, but I realised after speaking to someone who worked as a casino magician two things. There’s ALOT of equipment to be involved and safety is insanely important. I knew the second part though about the Assistant was going to take some time. As such, two time skip chapters were left last to make sure there was a timeframe. I watched way too many Masked Magician episodes. And yes that is a reference to Kaiba throwing the card in the gun.


	5. Audition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pandora watching Takashi Miike's film...or just gets a realisation that you can#t just cheat and blag your way through life.

At first, the manager of the theatre had said no to even considering even looking at the Assistant’s talents. The contortionist had double her years and triple the experience. There was no way he’d risk the reputation and the paperwork for an accident by letting someone who could only do household basic tricks.  
“The people want to see messed up bodies jammed into the box. ‘Alf of them now how the tricks works so they want to see a pretty lady turn herself into a box”  
Slumped outside the manager's door with the tape still wrapped up, the Magician  
was struck with a heavy weight that his plans were for naught. Without the Assistant’s smile he was lost and vanishing. Darker thoughts clouded him for a split second.  
Could he frame or get the contortionist fired?  
What if he was blinded by sheer love and she was not ready?  
What if he had sped all this too long in barely half a year?  
Swallowing them down he returned to his dressing room to prepare for makeup and slumped over his dressing table. Politely but almost sobbing, turning away the knocks at his door. The voice however was not of the single makeup lady whose endless years in male school had netted her hours in front of the strobe lights, but of his actual assistant. The contortionist spoke softly and drew up a seat backwards and lent over the top. Her words were not of sour replacement but actually that it had aligned with her own plans. Just like himself she yearned for her own act and not be tied to him. She did not risk surgery and ballet school to spend her time hidden under a blanket or squatting hidden in a box. This girl of his that she’d see hover around all the time was a ticket for both of them. There wasn’t any friendliness in her words though, left over bitterness from the Bistro incident gave them a tension in the air that both were schemed behind their backs. An Magician of fantasy and a Contortionist who broke the rules of bones to slip through cracks. In another world perhaps they’d make a great pair of thieves stealing and tricking through ancient Egypt for the original cards.  
They watched the tape together as the Magician commented what they had been working on, but the co worker was not as easily impressed. Remarking how the Assistants legs had sat uncomfortably to the point they could deal knee damage. Explaining the cushions back at her the Contortionist silenced him with a glare so piercing that it almost knocked his hat off.  
“If you love her and want her to not be a crippled fetal on the floor, then listen to my advice properly.”  
The tone, the threat, the total pain of the image made him whence and break his voice into a mere whimper. She explained proper form to him but in anatomy terms that flew far over his head, and she could clearly see that. Pausing the tape, drew in the air with the end of a makeup brush how her legs should sit, for example. After chastising him over, that never in his months at the medium stage that he never once thought or looking into his own assistant, the Contortionist offered him a proposal.  
“Bring another video or let me work the girl of her being safe and I shall vouch with her. I get my creative freedom, you get your disposable hole.”  
And so after their performances were done the Assistant would practice with the Contortionist in the back rooms while they waited for the encore. She had the flexibility and stretches but it was all about safety and refinement...and a repeated phrase of:  
“Smile! Don’t forget to smile!”  
During one of those demands that she smiled,the hefty manager attempting to sneak out for a cigarette heard the commotion and poked his eyes down the corridor. Curious but not quite caring enough since tonight’s profits were already in, he took a mental note and vanished to the back door.  
It was a blessing though that he did see that small glimpse of an event when it came to finally presenting the Assistant and the trio’s big scheme ahead. It might have been a three-on-one mental fight but he held two of their futures by the necks. They had but one advantage between them and it was the one thing the Contortionist hated behind all else.  
Ignorance of their craft.  
So when it came to dipping out their paychecks for new equipment for the proposed show, she slipped him dainty lies of mere hoops, tennis rackets, plastic clear boxes, his eyes began to lit up. A smaller quicker magician show that needed more props and lighting for something as simple as that? Too good be true, and that’s wt off his alarm bells. The new tape was shown to try to ease off these fears, where the Assistant blushed at looking at her gaudy self half dressed. There was something ticking in the manager's head as he watched. A lip bite here and a chin rub there. All that happened was that he called it a night and her paperwork, and references were needed by the end of the week for him to make a final choice. He warned though it wouldn’t be until the summer season that any of this would be rolled out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a defunct card game based off an MMO called “Mabinogi Duel.” I played it a lot and my favourite card in it was “Magician: Masked Field” who’d summon his assistant. His Christmas form I used to use all the time in my decks and as an avatar! But the outfits are what I’d say we are at right now. (Turns out the wiki is still up: https://wikiwiki.jp/mabiduel/%E9%AD%94%E8%A1%93%E5%B8%AB%EF%BC%9A%E3%83%9E%E3%82%B9%E3%82%AF%E3%83%89%E3%83%95%E3%82%A3%E3%83%BC%E3%83%AB%E3%83%89 )


	6. Glitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [TW: Needles / Vague nod to Suicide]  
> No toes or fingers were hut in the making of this chapter.

There was one small restriction that came with The Assistant taking her title, she was too make her own costumes. Something sparkly and elegant, tight fitting but not a leotard cut off at the breasts. He agreed, without a second thought. Compared the plain black and white poker bunnies he was given, just the smidgen of colour and glitter to catch the lights would be wonderful. What he had not quite expected was that such finer things as layers of sequins and form fitting clothes would take so much extensive work.   
Piles of scrunch up papers surrounded the Assistant’s machines. Several of his cards were stolen for reference, drawing out their costumes before returning them and scrapping the paper. She wanted something traditional but elegant, something magical but put her on par with her Magician. Cups of tea and bottles of wine were consumed even before the Magician had to haul rolls over different coloured fabric in. It wasn’t stressful for the Assistant, she was just never given any sort of freedom before in designs in the small tiny factory creating finery. When given the whole world and items to use she was becoming overwhelmed and lost within the freedom. For the Magician he would smile from the back of the kitchen as she’d draw and write and wave her hand for a reil of tea. He’d measure her arms and legs for her, then repeat again a couple days later because she wasn’t entirely sure of her own measurements. Her serenity though and patience always came through no matter how much he signed reading off the inches for the leg once more.  
The design in the end was akin to a sommelier's suit but with a small tiny skirt covering the usual crotch piece. Outlined with white and blue to match her partner, stars and sequins lined the tails of the coat which the Magician would have to shine a torch repeatedly until the layer sat just right and the hideously loud sewing machine would stitch his ears shut.   
There were ties however in her tailoring that he saw within the Magician’s trust that had never gained with that contortionist. Placing his hand in the glove as she felt the needle machine move slowly down his fingers then his arm. Feeling the pinch of the fabric coming together but there was no fear with him. Trust me, she had repeated even when she swung the top half of the machine around and rewrapped the thread between her teeth and through the needle. She could speed up a couple beats down the finger to the point he was starting to have flash forwards of his hand being punctured but it never happened. The ultimate fear he had in those brief moments switched their roles in the magic show for just a split second, yet just as his illusions of saws and knives, there was ultimate safety in the professionals hands. How could he ever doubt her.  
“I’ll prick myself because I know the pain. Just as you always giving yourself paper cuts with those thin saws. Give me some faith.”  
She had all of it in him and with the glove taken off and the other hand done at almost double the pace of their trust with sharp objects thicker than steel. Even the small soft fur around the top of the gloves the Magician was allowed to do some very basic rudimentary sewing for. A laugh and a giggle every time he stabbed himself or lost the thread. Tiny payback for every time he would giggle when she bashed her foot ona chair or head on the boxes. Every time a prop sprang by accident and clipped her, the middle now fumbled in his hands. Yet, just as he would bring a wet flannel to calm her bumps, she’d wrap his finger in bandages. The gloves she made, ended up having much earlier use than before to excuse all the pricks, bumps and plasters over fingers.  
Still he performed his shows however in the evenings and nights. Coming home to a dinner in the microwave and dragging the partner up to bed. Some nights after his costume and bag were ditched in the doorway a pillow was placed under her head on the desk. Jacket around her as he ate the dinner that sat in the microwave, listening to all the octaves of her snoring. Cards to his left, performances to his right and his partner as center stage. It was a comfy thick month where every night was exhaustive with a deep sleep.   
During one of these nights here his partner was sound asleep, he was sipping an earl grey with eyes out the window to the stars. Only few survived the light pollution of the tourist hubs of Paris, but enough that he had found comfort in them. Mind then wondered then if his Mother would approve of this lady he had picked for his life’s craft. The Magician wondered while seeing the stars gently fade in and out, if she was granting him the blessing that was befalling him. Perhaps he was to visit her grave one day and give thanks.  
No.  
He had to bury that hatchet. Water under the bridge to wash away his defeatist past and continue upwards. The person who kept tanks of helium since his teenage years, was not the man who had a steady job and life. That did not equal becoming complacent, though, there was a want to be more than just a“Magician”, he wanted to be more, a conjurer of proportions that would etch into the very history of entertainment in the face of all of Kaibacorps technology. Pandora the Illusionist of wonders! Pandora the weaver of miracles! Something whose name became synonymous with his job title worthy of a proper poster.   
That Crawford man, he painted every night the cards that he painted and got him there. He had a wife he loved, and spurred him on. He had to follow the traditional and ambitious ways and most of all, make sure his darling would come with him. These steps from the name still on the bottom of the card packs was what he had to emulate. The stage was his art form, the illusions were his magic. With his assistant in hand, their was strength,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His trust with the sewing machine around the house is a reference to a YuGiOh cosplayer who I hope I can say is a friend. Her way of describing how she made her robes and sewed was an inspiration. “The person who kept tanks of helium since his teenage years” is a reference to a tiny detail in the manga. It was funny to me though, that while the anime removed most deaths, the one that could EASILY be avoided was deliberately said so by Marik wasn’t.  
> Bonus fact: Buying pure helium is actually pretty hard nowadays. Shortage and regulations has made it harder. Those Helium tanks were probably worth a lot by the time this story takes place.


	7. Illusionists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pandora gets peg--- lovingly hugged and kissed by his lover.

There was no sleep in the summer nights on the build up. Anxiety turns and worried twists. Working each other into a ball of hype and panic. What of all the kids who are free from school, to laugh and heckle? What of the manager who breathes down your neck on my failure? What if I lose a leg or an arm? Every dinner cooked was grand and thick just in case it was either of theirs last meals. They drank wine and celebrated after rehearsal. After one small trip on a cab;e during dress rehearsal they could breathe slightly better. The calendar days trickled down to the point that either of the performers could keep track of what days were running. The summer heat was thick, the tourists were plenty, the small theatre billboard had a poorly cut out photo of them. For both of them, hand in hand it felt as though were still in a dream, to the point their stomachs had hit their throats.  
The first night in the now-shared dressing room was a tense moment. Fidgeting in her homemade costume causing the makeup artist to attempt to keep her calm. With a powder on her cheek, the makeup artist told her that she has done this make routine a thousand times and she’d never seen a bad night. The Illusionist paced around behind her, last minute inspection on every inch of the props, making short the dummy blades where in the correct position, a thicker routine than he’d ever done. The chain of ‘Calm downs!’ finally reached to the Illusionist who took his battered seat with the half dilated mirror next to his partner. Glowing in the lights of his old main mirror, soft skin now looking so smooth as if she was a silk doll. She gave out her hand with a smile and the Illusionist held the Assistants hand tighter than ever before. This was no longer a rehearsal in the garden, nor the dress rehearsal where she could fall over without shame. This whole treatment of makeup, names and lights. Debut as an announcement was a weight she never had to carry in the tailor shop through her shifts.  
“You’ll be fine”  
A mouthed word of encouragement as the makeup lady finished the final glitter on the eye shadow and darted off to the next room. The Assistant crowned her partner with his white and blue hat, and he crowned her with the gold and blue tiara. Hand in hand they sat behind the curtain timing their breaths together as the conductor announced her name so loud and the applause riled up.   
They danced together across the stage for their introduction, he pulled her along and told her to never take her eyes off him until she would smile at the crowd. As her face turned into a smile and she nodded, the Assistant twirled our toe to the crowd. Blue sequin tailcoat catching all every one of the half dozen lights. A smile and a bow as the lead magician opened up.  
“Give it up for my beautiful Assistant, Catherine the Weaver of Illusions!”  
By the time they had taken their bows at the end of it, the Assistant being dropped in sweat and smiles, every breath was a sigh of relief. The applause was normal, the performance was standard and that was all they needed. They hadn’t gone through safety contracts and paperwork for a silence in the theater. So as soon as they vanished behind the curtains she was happily jumping all over him, giddy with excitement and relief, catching his hat after she pronged it off. Scrabbling over his back the Contortionist who was stretching out her endless noodles, gave a genuine smile and nod to them. From atop his back, the Assistant mouthed a thank you and pointed to her feet, before quickly reattaching herself to him.   
in the back room the door was slammed as she jumped down and pushed him against for a deep kiss that could have burrowed right through his face. In that moment they both relaxed in each other’s embrace, deeply soaked in sweat, saliva and adrenaline. The Assistant proposed an absurd thing.  
“Put the chair under the door please”  
And they closed the curtains around themselves with giggles and laughs.  
When the sounds and rigging stopped creaking and both of them had returned to their costumes, a bang at their door spooked them to stroking down their hair into something lookable. It was a back of the knuckle knock which meant only thing, the big lad himself was knocked and sure as it was he was there...but either a mouthy early teens by his side and a figure behind him more than double his size.  
The Illusionist seized tightly, had karma come to claim his soul on this fateful night to return him to the ground? No, his manager told him to be at ease and the girl held up a small program.  
“You used to duel at the downtown restaurant. I...was surprised to see you on stage, Monsieur Pandora.”  
That’s all it was a request for a signature but as he swirled his name, he paused for a bit.  
“May my Assistant sign too? Without her there is no magic.”  
The girl made a half retch noise with a playful laugh but said of course. Asking her father that when she attends the Duel Academy in a couple years time, she wants a dress like the Assistants. The dad ruffles her head and joked that she never did give up her dream of being a dancer instead of a duelist. The Illusionist bid them goodnight squatting down and telling the little lady to never forget her dreams because work will cause a falling star to grant you your wish. Smiling and chuckling with the program she scampered away.   
By the time he stood up the Assistant had tears in her eyes welled up like little crystal balls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was something that always bothered me in GX for all it’s light hearted tones was the characters who all clearly had vastly different interests than Dueling but were at the Academy anyway. I wondered if during Pandora’s time when Kaibacorp started dominating over II and the Duel Academy was being built that a lot of kids were pigeonholed like that. (Catherine’s outfit is a reference to something but I don’t remember.)   
> I...forgot how lewd this chapter god. I should update the tags.


	8. Agency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pandora is gets used as a puppet (again) by an ugly man with bad hair and bad fashion.

While the first night might have one smooth, they had their fresh shares of tumblr, equipment malfunction and keeping the cheap half baked smoke machine deciding to create some thick fire for effect.  
Ups and Downs he told the Assistant. Everyone takes a couple bombs in their careers before things even out. Yet every bump or slip when the floor was too polished or she tripped over the leg of their main chair act for an introduction was met with grasps and laughs. Surprising how lenient people were with small mistakes. She’d heard gossip of failed comedians crying off the stage from the ladies at her work back in the shop days. They had implanted a lot of fear and worries, which she still thought had weight to them. Her Mother’s own constant pick at her life’s stitches...She’d thread the loose ends back in with the Illusionists’s help but there’s only so much two pairs of hands can do. Dropping all of this to change a children’s card game playing man in coloured suits? That never failed to make her blush down the phone.  
There was a semblance of vindication though she received though when the Illusionist crashed through the door. Wielding a fax in one hand and his case that had bits of cloth poking out the end of it in the other, he spoke a sentence she couldn’t have dreamed of.  
“Your mother got us a meeting with an agency!”  
The fax was slightly blurred and off centered giving to the authenticity of his claims. It was true that sometimes the seamstress shop did custom gowns or fixes for suits but they were not in that part of town where those clients were numerous. Her heart had a question in it why one of the suits were hanging around there to do anything but duel. The business district that was slowly getting a pristine Kaibacorp white painted over it was such an alien and foriegn place, what could any of them want? Did her man manage to attract some sort of French Mafia?  
It was no mafia though as two weeks down the line they were trawling through minimalism hallways with doors labelled with departments in english the Assistant couldn’t read. Couches so unused and dense that they would swallow you whole as you waited to be brought in with a secretary who had her own deck of duelling cards half shuffled out on a desk. Inside was thicker.   
Shoulders and stomach spanning the entire desk, unused dity books and paperwork framed him and crowned his musty hair. A man so entranced in wood panels and neatly aligned stationary that the Illusionists classes him as the polar opposite of show business. Money rolled through this mans left hand and a ready to strike axe in the other. Any snide comments out of the level would speed up that axe’s decent on both of them  
“There are plans in the future to acquire that theatre as a potential site for another project. As the forward thinking company we are, we would like to bring your talent into our family before it becomes no longer relevant there.”  
On the tip of his tongue, the Illusionist wanted to extend a concern for his coworkers, but a hand gripped from the Assistant on his leg relaxed his tongue back in place and locked the door. A gap, they said. With a long repertory, good scouting, and being a headline stage act, the Illusionist and his Assistant were what the companyed needed to add to their portfolio. A flopped open leather bound book, coated with photos, names and cases. Motorcycle Stuntman in Death Cages! Subsections of Cirque Du Soleil! Puppeteers and comedians that were accompanied with cut out reviews. There was however, a noticeable tear within the book, sloppily done with small remnants left in the binding. Both of them perceived but with only the under the desk leg squeezes to communicate concerns, it was the Assistant who had the questions. They had not had a magical act before?  
The man’s lizard features vaguely expressed a saddened look and half glanced out of the window. Retired a year ago, had a near miss with a straightjacket water escape. Decided even half glancing Death was too much and that a family man was more important so walked. Wasn’t even walking in the hospital before walked. The story mumble d into complaints about they had a bunch of shows now missing a lead act and that their scouts were struggling to find anything more than a petty kid with tricks off of videotapes.  
The Illusionist pinched and swirled around his forehead just a little. The Assistant’s blue eyes longing tried to pick him up and cool him off before saying such. This corporate, cold speak irked him. Joking on the way out of the office that he knew how she felt inside various of his props.  
The offer though, was what he could not even remotely think to turn down. A couple tester shows in Calais and an intermission show for KaibaCorp’s qualifying tournament. If good, then he can pick up the days that the previous Magician had abandoned. The quivering jowls of the mass of slime spoke like he was fresh off of children's shows.  
“A couple of easy shows, a month of paperwork and eternals then you’ll be set for life!”  
Numbers, contacts and dates where passed beore they were finally released from the slowly swallowing chairs. At the door, twiddling a pen between his fingers, stabbed it towards the Assistant.  
“Ay’ll even let you keep that lil dress o yours!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really dunking on Kaibacorp, but I didn't want to go full harsh on it. Satellite wouldn’t exist for 4 Kaibas yet. And yes, I do play Ace Attorney.  
> Man 5ds was really pitch black at times, wasn't it?   
> Man none of the Rare Hunters got reincarnated in 5ds, but fucking Espa Roba did. CHRIST.


	9. Neon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pandora is remains a minor villain and is completely unaware of everything around the much bigger story.

Out of all the places in the world that the Agent had shown him to begin, it struck him as odd when he requested the city of sin itself, Las Vegas. Even when they were debating what they had to pick or load for the shippers the Illusionist kept picking up examining the back of the deck, reading the old creators names of his cards that weren’t swallowed by KaibaCorp. The desert is where he needed to go, the neon lights that once inspired imagery, the card games that gave life to the game that set this all in motion. Duels with holograms the size of buildings, hotels decorated with classics that were transformed into the very cards he played with, and stages with enough lights to illuminate all of Paris just centered on him.  
For the Assistant the upgrade even after a year down the line as they approached ripe adulthood, was as nervous and shy as could be. Las Vegas of all places, she could hear her own shout about the city of sin corrupting people. The reason why he chose the place was never made apparent to her but every reason felt half baked and changed per day. There was enough trust between them that she didn’t cause an argument, more of watching a child hype themselves for a theme park.  
Only on the plane did the Illusionist reveal to his partner the reasons why instead of either Broadway he picked. Perhaps when the boredom of the ten hours had kicked in but over the table of the first class bar, he passed her a duel monster.  
Toon Gemini Elf  
She laughed at it first before looking at their weird cartoon versions of that one card that felt so long ago. He instructed her to flip it over and look at the bottom of the card. There in barely readable white letters.  
“Industrial Illusions? The company? You want to go see them in Las Vegas? Please don’t turn me into a card, that sounds terrifying!”  
They shared a laugh but the Illusionist sipped his glass and shook his head. “The creator of the game and artists of the monsters had a dream he shared with his partner. Together they created a game that’s not only played around the world but changes the economy itself! He was born to meet his wife in this desert, so to crown our victory tour around the world, starting where the person that gave me life when I was losing mine was a start.”  
The Assistant thought about the information and flipped the card back over to the toon girls looking back. He’d never really talked about his life before the magic so it was curious that he held onto plastic cards with no magic. Perhaps just the mere fantasy of being a classical magician was shown in the cards to him, a reflection of where he’s at. Wondering if one day perhaps she should make the cloak of that White Magical Hat or even what materials that swirled hat of the Dark Magician would be made of? Did the man who painted the original cards ever come across that in his ideas, did his wife ever make dresses in the cards? She almost wished she could scry into this person’s life.  
“What happened to his wife? When the last big tournament was broadcasted, I don’t think I saw her.”  
Taken aback by this statement, the Illusionists smile and half way sip stopped with wide eyes as if she’d punch him in the chest. The truth is, he didn;t know, but the second wave thought of her even remotely implying he'd use her as a springboard to leave her on the ground was horrifying. PErhaps it was overthinking but both waves of thought made him painfully sad. The topic was dropped and changed when the airplane meal was served. That brought its own tidal wave of cooperative moaning. A laugh between them at the expense of Americans, a film with no subtitles barely understood in English. The luxury of company and first class eases any travel sickness they once worried about.  
By the time the night painted the sky between the towers of the hotel tower, the Illusionist was pinned directly to the window staring at the lights turning on, abused at the thick vibrant city, so far in contrast to the historical buildings of Paris. Lights that he wondered how many still had neon in the, bouncing off his outline through the window. He wondered what became of his equipment or if it even landed. The thoughts of not having to tie it to the top of the car now on its last legs was more comforting than a shipping crate. There was no other option than having to insist on bringing some of his own equipment, regardless of how fine and dandy the Palace’s own was. The darling treasure of his could not be risked with a malfunction, not here, not at this time.  
Upon the other side of the room between a fallen tower of opened suitcases, the Assistant hung up her costume in the cupboard and stared at it, holding the little strung up gloves in her hands. There was no silence here even high up, it had pulled apart her mind, the different plants, the lack of genery. She never imagined one small handkerchief folded in a random street magician’s pocket would unfurl herself to this. She wondered if he had felt the same. This wasn’t homesickness, or a longing, or even questioning of the choice. But had been years in the stitching, she merely wondered how far the Moirai had planned her tapestry they were weaving.   
“Would you like to see the strip? Rehearsals are after lunch, so perhaps tonight will be a night to indulge?”  
Her thinking was stunned out by his hand requesting her to head downstairs. Still hesitant, she abandoned her suitcase for her purse and the hand. His tailwind kept her wings afloat no matter how much she waived. The buildings were high enough to pierce the sky, the duels were bright that all the street lamps in Paris combined, the billboards had more detail on than any poster. To her, the Illusionist’s ability to just thrive between these lights and noises was really something only a magician at heart could handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t remember if it’s directly referenced in the anime but Peggy-chan was based in Las Vegas / Nevada. AND WOW THAT’S A LOT REFERENCES TO SHIT THAT HAPPENS HUH?


	10. Centering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nothing happens but Pandora's ego gets inflated.

To be surrounded by thick accent English speakers was a stressful time for. Splattered franglais as he tried with the vocal coach to practice a strong accent, only then being backed down that the tourists and Americans loved an exotic, romantic old world accent. Everything here was primed and tuned, it was not a half hearted dress rehearsal with a couple lights from one underpaid technician. No, entire crews for health and safety, lighting, rails, props, costume. Almost everyone except the crowd had to be there. For the young pair, it was almost overwhelming to see the previous freedom they had in performance be stripped down and fine tuned. Yet it was his assistant who told him that even seamstresses must follow patterns and measurements, even the top duelists have to follow their own patterns and combinations. This was a part of upgrading the level they were at, as it would be if they were painters, politicians, duelists or dancers.   
It eased him, but only enough to fight off the people that were there. The entire giant showroom with layers of balconies bore down on him as he imagined the faces. Even the architecture, despite being in the middle of the desert was coated in fake Italian sculptures and pretend gargoyles from cathedrals, each of them staring. An Illusionist fighting off his own illusions struck him as odd, since with all his teaching with the Assistant, who remained very mechanical in nature. How different the mind and heart plays each other. Swallowing the thought returned to the hounding stage managers and directors.  
In the buried winding corridors of dress rooms, tech rooms and storage rooms, the Assistant had like a rat in a maze. No longer in the same dressing room, and still not used to any sort of performer life, it felt as if she was on mars. The rustic dressing room they shared with one mirror propped up on an abandoned wardrobe gave her a sense of tradition and closeness. Here the thick white walls with her dress being hung on a formal fashion rack with multiple ladies hanging around her face...it was too much.   
There was the same mirrored bleakness in the Illusionist’s room. The stage technician rattled off in his ear where the holograms, lights, effects would come from making sure he knew the cues and timings. Battered around by makeup and costume touchups. Their hands were not as gentle as the bored smoke-smelling lady from PAris, the costume itched and didn’t have that softness around the shoulders that the Assistant would always nail just right. It occurred to him then, that perhaps his confusion about the Assistant’s question on the plane could be as aptly answered by their current situation. One person to own the company and who designs the cards will swiftly become the singular face of such an enterprise. The disappearance of Pegasus' wife could simply be, as they were now divided by different divisions of their word. To him, it was underlined by that and he focused his mind to going over the timings and repeating the signals back to the coordination team.   
Behind each side of the curtains, an eternity beat with their hearts. The rising curtain splashed light at their feat but felt as if time had become to a crawl. Both of them vaguely taking a glance to wear either one of them would be. One last minute clenched fist before the music sprang and one last breath was taken. However upon walking out to center stage and waving to the crowds, it felt as though the building had strunk. Their opening dance together pulled the world to their stage, with a swirl it was just them in a world of lights. Her smile as she prepared her legs in the box felt just as comfy as always with her little pads. For the Illusionist the bigger crowd with grasp and applause as he supposedly took his lovers legs away and spun her head around. As soon as she would vanish under the trapdoor, she’d listen to the crowds graps and cheers. A small giggle to herself as she worked her way back up and then into the next prop to reappear. It urged her own as she put her head over the test speakers in the back of the Illusionists full showmanship on offer. This loudness, this thumping, this extreme stage was all behind anything she could have thought possible. Tucked in and carried in the hair, the blanket fell over and she pulled out the back of the chair. Trying to make no thump as she slid her body forward. Trying to cross her legs and look as natural as possible as he rose up the curtain. Lights glitter acrossed her dress and her hands rose up and joined him. She was center stage now, for her effect, he made sure to stand back for it. This was their combination, their partnership. He needed to keep his vow in the dressing room that his name might be on the title, but this show was of two people.  
It was not as professional as elegant as a cirque du solei show, but it was fun and personal. An intimacy of a small theatre in Paris with its romanticism exaggerated movements blown up with more spikes, more dangers, more vanishing. They told a story that night, a personal one on center stage that the managers and directors objected to afterwards, but it was needed for both of them. Cocooning in themselves so they could, as the Illusionist put it, spread their wings all over the world. Embraced in claps, bows and confetti, this was the opening night to the world.   
Even afterwards knowing they’d have to do the same routine again the next day, hand in hand they gawked at the poster that had them together. No longer was the typography slightly center, no longer were they poorly cut out flat images. After all the clean up and show, this sweet poster under one light in the dead of night, was truly the heavens lighting them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes place over almost half of Pandora’s life span. A small part of this is actually based on Pandora’s dialogue from EDS on the GBA. He talks about wanting to create a bigger, better show! The greatest show the world has ever seen. I wanted to really beat that ego that was building with a hunger for a bigger stage and keep growing up. (Also Pandora has really cute GBA era sprites esp. In 7tG)  
> If I could embed images in notes, here would be a giant collage of chunni stuff Pandora said.


	11. Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pandora does that one Alliumshipping trope but it's strippershipping.

With their tour both supporting and being the main act, came with travel times that quickly piled up into hours on hours. From Seattle to Quebec, the Illusionist had found comfort dueling for fun with various passengers. Yet for the Assistant whose interest in cards rested solely on his endless rants about strategy, she needed a project. Originally her plan was to embroider some sort of photo or art for them but planes even in the highest class are not made for such wide things. Instead, to keep her skills sharp and to always have cardboard to protect her stuff, to draw out templates for patterns. A corne shape ws first, that the Illusions looked over. Rotating it a few times in confusion before handing it back. The wire to hold it up and then threaded through the thing tubes for rings. The threading alone for just the hat and neck took up several days worth of flights. The shoulders, padded out and trying to work from poorly traced sketches and the odd sneak peak of his cards. Shyly and jokingly pulling it away from him, the Illusionist smiling and trying to catch glimpses, the flights burned away with smiles and gloats as bit by bit her carry got more and more filled with fabric. Her crafitness and slight of hand drew further, measuring the barstool and table, trying to work out her partner’s leg height while he was waiting in line for the bathrooms. Her little plan being stitched together.  
Towards the end as she was turning the sleeves inside out and puffing up the hat in a hotel room while the Illusionist was busy broking an issue with delayed shipment of his equipment. There was an immense weight that fell over her. The man who etched the Dark Magician into these cards....had never given him a partner. She did know the game well enough to go hunt for one, and nothing else in his deck or trunk seemed to match the main magician. As she spread out the month’s worth of sewing and wiring, the thought that her no offwhite to blue costume could never match this tore at her, just a little. Did that man who her lover na dpartner idolised never cared or dreamt enough of his wife to make her into a card? Perhaps it was her romanticism talking and she simply did not know one existed. Trying to pull on a brave face, looking out at the busy downtown from the hotel window, she wondered how much she didn’t really know. It had always felt to her that she was the steady minded one, but, he was the one who won the money to get here originally with his strategy and tricks.  
She was distruped in her compliment but a loud crash through the door and cheer that everything is sorted and fine. Long hair slicked back with a face free from wrinkles or stress, carrying in his hand a bottle of wine, he stopped in his tracks after feeling the tension in the room she’d left and noticing the costume on the bed. Torn between the one-eighty tonal difference these two things, he straightened up and toned himself down.  
“I may have swiped us a gift for tonight, since we can’t rehearse tonight…”  
His voice trailed into a confused tone as his arm fell down and he exchanged the bottle of wine on the bed for the hat.  
“This is...Dark Magician’s hat?”  
She blushed and laughed, the Assistant simply running up dangling her arms around him. Not a single word was spoken but a reaffirming hug. He embraced her, swallowing his pride and tears out of the soft gesture as his own tapestry of every hidden bit of cloth and pulled away work in progress came together. Pulling back he stuck the helmet on his head and pulled a gruff voice.  
“I, the dark magician shall perform the greatest magic siow of this side of the millennium.”  
The Assistant burst out in laughter so hard that all her weight lent into him. He worried for a split second then hit the laughter himself. Trying to get her steady and to breathe, he tried on the tabard and shoulders with her, he did a twirl and she grew bright red at her handiwork. Only to swiftly curse herself for not getting the length just accurately, and a loose thread sticking out by a centimeter or two. Her panicked blushes were cursed with his and the top of the helmet smacking into her before he pulled it up and pecked her cheek.  
They laughed and talked about the design, her little hidden tricks to sneak needles onto the planes. There was an urge in him to ask just for one night if he could just keep the costume on and have the jeers of the crowd. It wouldn’t matter to him because it was armor of the highest quality. She shook her head and threatened him sternly if he ever wore it out he’d never hear the end of it. It was then when I said she should make one that his voice trailed off as he realised Dark Magician had no partner to his knowledge. It sunk him inside the hat for just a second but took her hands.  
“I can’t win tournaments to meet Monsieur Seto or Monsieur Crawford but one day when we have the stage. We will perform at their balls or shareholder business trips. One day when Battle City is built around KaibaCorp, your dress will make it into the cards. I will become greater than Houdini himself to the point he must notice…”  
The Assistant zones out his monologue about a sentence in, she knew his grand dreams and how they were ripped from movies or stories but…  
She couldn’t deny it.  
Everything so far had come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Houdini line is a reference to a line Pandora says in the anime, I don’t know if it’s in your version but here’s a note just in case. According to Pixiv, the term for Pandora/His Dark Magician is Strippershipping. Very accurate for Las Vegas too. Anyway this was a scene I’ve read a couple times in Yami fics, so I wanted to do one. If you are wondering if I made her a seamstress just for this? The answer is no, I didn’t. The Handkerchief was more important.


	12. Conjurer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pandora thinks he's a main character that has any relevance.

The back end of the tour through Europe, they got so accustomed to travelling that the approaching winter season and home felt closer to a vacation. They knew several boxes and parcels of souvenirs and gifts would be sitting there with their neighbours when they returned, and the thought of being reunited with more than five to six pairs of clothes was a welcome treat. That was their current goal, finish, collect check rest and sleep the winter away in hibernation., well that was after the New Year had passed.  
In Europe those greeted his name being translated into a multitude of languages, laughing at the random accents that would be added to either of their names, collection and learning how to say their titles in a handful of tongues. It was in London that the weirdest translation came. From french, to english, to spanish to english, somehow, whatever route it took it ended up as:  
“Pandora The Conjurer and Catherine The Queen!”  
The Queen herself took the title with a smile. Like the real Catherine The Great! Although….it was bizarre how the name change happened, albeit she pointed out it was probably a weird translation as Magician, Illusionist and Conjurer are generally all synonyms in english. He had to admit, it had a ring to it. Standing between the historical goat-made roads and buildings of England look up at the Theatre, the Conjurer joked that perhaps he had fallen through a hole in the ground and gone back in time. The Queen shot back at him; that does that make him the court jester made to impress her. A verbal punch to the something and a wounded ego later, he smiled and rubbed his head. And gave her a proposition:  
Only if I can make the costume.  
Shooting back, she just sees him as a walking mannequin to put clothes on. Giggling shyly like a schoolgirl talking to her crush, she took his arm across the cobbles. It helped that his profession allowed her to spill sequins by accident in hotel rooms all over the world. One day he said, when he’s doing a show for some rich kid’s daughter like the girl in Paris, she’ll get her designs into the cards so the entire world will be able to see them. Blown up to massive heights for the entire world to see. Staring at a statue coated in pigeon she had actually pose a strange question to him.  
“How do you know, we aren’t immortal?”  
An eyebrow cocked up from the Conjurer with a confused look, but the further context was revealed. She’d read in a magazine on the plane an interview with that Crawford man. Supposedly some of his cards were drawn from old tablet, art and people from the past. They were reincarnated into his designs. He thought back for a moment and scratched his head but then laughed with a hand behind his head.  
“I’m too handsome and big to be the actual Dark Magician!”  
She looked somewhat saddened to him as they leaned underneath the statue for a bit, watching two kids sitting on the side of the giant fountain playing duel monsters between themselves. He wondered though, there was that card he saw in television dueling the big tournament Industrial Illusions ran. He discarded it, French history was an ugly stain on the architecture. He was also pretty sure Catherine the Great wasn’t even French.  
The show that night, he adapted the name fully. The English theatre though was far smaller and cramped in comparison to the American sterilized walls. It was a half comfort look between them. Inspecting the stage before the show, the circled rows of the stage felt almost completely enclosing to him. The Queen had asked him how the people on the topmost rows at the back could see anything, most of the light from the stage didn’t even reach there. He supposed that is why many of the kids nowadays want to see KaibaCorp’s 10 foot Holograms more than Crawford’s cartoons or this small show. The Queen questioned where his optimism had gone, the truth was that it came from her. Attempting a somewhat stalwart face to her, he pointed up at all the railings and then down to the bolts on the stage.  
“Centuries people have used these mechanisms to create worlds. I have made my own too. I feel as though we are to a point where I know my worlds down to each and every bolt. There is no magic or mystery when you build it yourself. A castle built by oneself is admired by others, but they don’t see the hours of your spine bending.”  
It was a worrying talk from the Conjurer, but she looked at him as earnest as possible.   
“A castle means you are a king regardless. There is the King of Games for duel monsters now you must take the title of the King of Illusions for magic.-“ She broke away with a chirp in her step and mimed a trumpet with her hands. “Introducing King Pandora The Conjurer!”  
A flop of his fringe fell down as an excuse to hide his cheeks with his hand. Coiling in himself a little, there was too much ego being rubbed for him to fully comprehend.   
Hand in hand they finally buckled into the stagehands requests for them to dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catherine the Great was picked because Russian. The real part of this chapter though is reference to the “Reincarnation” (Is that the best word?) not just in YuGiOh but other series.   
> There’s a series dear to me called “Fist of the North Star” and in the original manga, there are 4 brothers, all adopted. However in the Sequel, it’s shown in a vision by another “reincarnation” of the previous main character that 3 of the brothers, including himself get reincarnated. My favourite brother didn’t. I always thought a companion character in the sequel could be, but that’s just headcanon.   
> Anyway I’m rambling but that always hurt and struck a chord for me.  
> I still love you Jagi. Man I really have a think for masks.


	13. Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pandora does that thing in a war/scifi anime where a guy shows his co pilot a photo of his friend and says they are going to get married when he gets home.

The Conjurer has gained an ego so large that as soon as the winter winds began, his car was exchanged for something the Queen described as “unnecessarily giant”. Holidays and the new year were on the horizon but with it a ritual that he had done every year since. An empty pilgrimage, usually done in silence alone, for a solemn ritual. This year, when he had the world in his hand was the time he opened the oyster to let the Queen in.  
She knew about it, so when the steady invitation was given for her to join him, it made her both worried for his sake but also solemn herself. Blessed with her Mother still, who she showered with embroideries and gifts, she felt awkward for him around her. He said it didn’t matter and never once did he lose the showmanship smile even when the father mocked his profession. The knife would slice through the onion though when he drove home through Paris and his music was deafening.  
The car ride to the cemetery was dead silent. Only the jostling of the small bad of tools was filling the inside of the car. He apologized to her at random intervals before then changing his words into a vague formation of a thank you. She was nervous, as she’s watched enough airplane horror movies to see this leading up to her body in a bag, but that probably wasn’t a good joke to try to crack over the atmosphere.  
It was a bright but frosty day where the sun hung low but had everything a soft gleam to it. He led her by hand through the gravestones to one shaped crudely like a book with an empty space on the other side. Cleaning the ice and snow off it with his gloved hand, took from the bag shine and sponge to clean it up. Brushing away the leaves on the stones that are surrounded by the central urn. The Queen stood with hands wrapped behind her back, watching his ritual. Only fragments of what he was saying reached her ears but her eyes welled just slightly from the frost nipping between her hat and scarf.   
“When I was young...a half a decade before your handkerchief…I had a hole so grand in me that I thought nothing could sew it. I...stitched myself together. I had always found it funny that you were a seamstress. As if Mother had the way I saw myself suctering over wounds.”  
She took a couple steps forward and crouched down next to him. His eyes were red raw and sore, the water under the bridge was trickling over the riverbanks. The Conjurer took her hand as small fragments of snow began to fall down, each one landed and settled on the black hat of hers. He watched them one by one trickle over her as his heart pounded and hand squeezed.  
“I know this is not the place you must’ve dreamed as a small girl but…”  
Dropping one knee and looking up at her, pulled from someone seemingly inside his hand, a ring in a box. Blue gems wrapped with the sharpest stone on a gold band. No magic, no stars, just a simple joining of their two colours wrapped in white gold. He choked out barely half the phrase, interrupted with a cold sneeze. Before he could recover, he was tackled to the ground with flying hugs. His flat cap and her beret flew next to each other in the pile of snow as their tears warmed their faces. They laid there in a hug with broken stuttering voices as the snow caught them.  
“I cannot thank you enough…”  
Back and forth their gratitude went, their blessing and messages. The odd joke that ended in a jibe. Her blonde hair entangled with his in the snow as they stared up at the morning sun. Raising the ring on her finger and watching the lights catch the rays, she’s never seen something that broke apart light like that. Not even the finest crystal they had acquired for props.  
The Conjurer and The Queen, formally to be married in the summer when their next season of European shows were over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short and curt. I imagine Pandora probably popped the question on stage to be a showman, but I wasn’t sure. It had a couple rewrites but knowing what MArik did to Pandora in the manga...I knew I had to link the Mother and Catherine.


	14. Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pandora gains a saviour complex and still lacks appreciation.

There was one more job to be done however before the tour could begin for the spring season. One more old knot to tie and settle. He’d made stops to try to deliver a small gift to the Contortionist, only to find said theatre now boarded up to become a Duel Exam hall for the Paris branch of the Duel Academy to be opened and christened with Notre Dame. The old office of his manager was gone and turned into residential flats above a card shop. Paris was changing rapidly with the times as the new millennium strove onwards. It made the other items on his list become more and more important.  
One part that had not changed was where the most important item on the list lay. It had taken him back to the old haunting grounds, the back streets far away from landmarks and canals. There in the same plaza were fresh faced but still the same underpaid waiters hanging out free samples to tourists who scoffed at them. There in that plaza he picked up the trail of smoke to the old benches by never used bike racks. There the same old clown, another couple inches around his waist and another chin added.   
Taking off his flat cap and slicking his head back a bit, picked up the clown’s half abandoned wig without the smoker even turning to notice, busy shaking and trying to get his lighter to spark. Through his sleeve the Conjurer pulled a wand and flick a flame atop it, lighting the cigarette. A mumbled thanks was all he was given in response before another glance was taken at what caused the flame. Shuffling the pounds around to have his feet front facing on the bench seat, the clown’s face attempted to expand into a surprise.  
“Yah came back, eh? All the mothers screaming for you weren’t enough? Argh! Argh! Argh!” Splattering a chest cough afterwards, The Conjurer took out a sealed envelope with a fancy seal stamped across the back.  
“You let me sneak off, bunk work and play cards. Now sneak off with me like I did with that lass. Opening act. The Grande Theatre then the Royal Palladium in England two weeks later.”  
A dismissive wave, puff and cough with an extended, “Naaaah”. Gesturing with the envelope once more, the Conjurer gave a jab to the Clown’s shoulder. If not for himself then for every cream pie that was thrown at his face. They were a duo only a few years ago, they were friends and smokers alike. The only difference now was one had their teeth cleaned and one still had children to make them smile instead of fear. The clown too the envelope and stuffed it in behind the bulging dungarees, flicking the straps against his fat gut for emphasis.   
“Mah wifey back home is expecting so even without this ccode of honor bulkshit I gotta have one good photo to show da tyke.”   
The Conjurer tapped his wand on his head a couple times for luck, that was one scenario not even they had even dreamed of yet. Easing to lean back, the Clown was gently interrogated about what had happened to each of the members over the years. The Clown was crass and spoke bluntly about them with little mercy. The Conjurer pried into if he knew what happened to the other trope in the old comedy theatre. He shrugged for a little, but then wound back. Nodding with the cigarette between his hands, the red nosed clown gave a vague gesture to over the canals.   
“That pretty lady that used to tend Bennies’? Ballet school I think. Some british lad who used to play cards in the ol’ town hall was dating ‘er”  
The Conjurer couldn’t conjure such an image in mine. She’d gone to dance school supposedly, but she was older than his love. Amazing. He imagined she ended up a teacher, her sternness would strike the fear into any twelve year old but her techniques worked. She did know her stuff. The Clown, an epicenter of poor taste jokes made a few half off the cuff jokes about her legs but gave up after now feeling bad about having his wife. Talked about how he bailed out of an open mic because how he got struck through the heart by cupid's mean bone shrank. It was an intoxicating way of talking that gave some colour to the empty hollow agents and managers with stock lines he had worked with. He was not really a cheeky young man anymore to fully partake in the banter but it was a cleansing wipe to call a donkey in America what he was.  
“I’d be skinny over there y’know. Shoulda booked me over there where I could get a free buffet, ayah ayah!”  
Before the cigarette burned out in his hand and the butter was squished with an extra large clown shoe, the Conjurer wished him the best as sincerely as he could manage.  
As soon as he left to go down the old Resistance alleyways and tunnels, he spat the taste of smoke into the ground and chewed a gum. His ego riled and confirmation that his oath was right,if anything. HE tried to keep the hard showmanship side outside but guilt came over him. He could see the old tailor shop still active and the machines in the old building’s top windows. Like clockwork, still spinning and threading   
Towards the ground level though, he swiped off snow on one of the tunnel arches, how faded much of the brickwork around here slowly became. Plants had begun to take back most of the cobbles which made trying to find one brick he needed difficult. Only when almost pressing his face against it, in The faintest of scratches done with a needle the Queen left in her pocket. Still there.   
“Pandora And Catherine”  
“Escaped Hand in Hand”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clowns are cool.   
> The passage of time and eras in YuGiOh really evolve the world. Even though we don’t see much of the world outside in GX, I wanted to start etching out the cracks that end up widening into 5D’s satellite.


	15. Explosions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which...

On the opening night in Paris, the pair met beforehand for dinner with the Clown and his wife who never let go of his arm. He’s cleaned up rather nicely and managed to somehow tuck his new chin back in. Rehearsals were a blast from the past and even with an empty audience the pair relit their old chemistry. It was as if something had injected energy directly into the Clown’s blood to kick start him. All original protests from management and the Queen herself was beginning to be buried slowly and slowly away. He stole the Clown scoffed, every nudge from the wife to please have some decorum. The cheers of fans of beer poured into fine wine glasses between the men. The back streets life of Paris gilded with the fine veneer of what people would dream Paris to be like. Toasts and cheers were raised through the night, to the baby on it’s way, to the soon to be wedding, even to the shitty run down circus tent they once called home.  
Inspections of the tunnels and props were now granted with a commentary on how they work to the new comers. Even if they weren’t going to use them and merely watch from behind the stage, this was all such a step from up comedy relief gags they were used too. Years of progress stitched together for the King of Magic’s castle. Why wouldn’t he show off the work? Even if he covered it as merely health and safety. The Clown was intrigued though and completely swept up within, joking with and attempting to juggle with the knives before a stage hand’s yell bellowed down the corridor about no ambulances being present. His wife felt the cushions and the Assistant stretched, laughing with them about how old and tiff they were both getting.  
The pyrotechnic teams ran enough tests during the dress rehearsals that the Clown has thrown out a joke that he’d be allowed to light a cigarette on one of the machines so the gas doesn’t go to waste. Wife and soon to be wife spent in between practice in full steer wedding talk. Countries! Clothes! Food! The Queen had no dreams originally for the big day, in her seamstress days, endless angry, picky, delusional brides had watered any romanticism she retained. She’s taken the wife to see her costumes and dresses to keep her occupied from getting in the way of the teams buzzing back and forth constantly. The Seamstress whose mother would be in the crowd, who finally buckled to accept the life and soon-to-be husband of choice was the icing on the cake. If anything this performance could just have been their wedding night. Their home slice of Paris, a whole trip around to where it all began. The beating, fleeting romantic young girl heart would not stop beating.  
As the sun set and each party was taken to their rooms for final makeup, adjustments and testing. The Conjurer smiled at the makeup artist he requested. Blonde dye hallways coming out her and thick makeup to pin her face back, her eyes glazed over all the branded makeup boxes stacked for her to use. Her eyes darted back and forth to the point her eyeballs could be spinning around and around. A thank you, a catch up talk, a prep for colours and how her daughter was in the audience. Every part and snippet of the Conjurers' past had been realigned, the thanks he got for his generosity however was only there to feed his hunger for adoration. It was not enough to blow the minds of the crowd but to go further and conquer the hearts of the entirety of Paris.  
This side was muted and invisible to the Queen who chatted away during make up, confidence sprang now with her serenity with strangers and old friends alike. The words he said, the old thoughts he had, the Conjurer has conjured his dreams into reality from mere illusions. That castle they were going to rule, the houses they wanted to look for, the bigger trucks she’d help plan and create. A nod and signal to each other for good luck. A mouthed I love you as they took strides down the corridors.  
Thanking the cards he drew and the man who illustrated the. The pure white suit of the Conjure gleamed with the very sparkle of his dreams. The same folded handkerchief from all those years back folded away in his pocket. A tipped hat with a blue strip to match. A handsome and soft face, sharp eyes and cracked knuckles with a golden smile. It was time to weave some magic that no hologram could every match. A hand slap and grip by his brother in show business was the final blessing he would receive.  
Thanking the sisters for their handiwork in weaving The Queen’s fate, the calls and music came through the back halls as she strained out the repaired iconic costume of hers. Now with a blue and white gold ring on top, she clasped her hands together. Props were set. Both were dressed and ready. Their friends and family back in their home town of Paris. Through the stage entrance divide they could feel each other.  
The curtain rose.  
Their signature dance spanned the entire stage.  
The machines were set.  
And Atropos cut her thread.

* * *

  
Awoken by the stick of a Gravekeeper, a lonesome man dressed in off-burgundy stained suit rolled over from the headstone, and released the battered book he cradled. With the face about to speak, the keeper hobbled away at the sight, made a half apologizing as he went. The warmth of sun bouncing off skyscrapers was gone, only the decaying historical buildings remained. Even this flower coated place had crumbled away.  
Mask left at the grave. Shoes and empty deck box too. Book placed underneath them.  
The last night had come and gone.  
And the magician must vanish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Magician Doesn't Come Back is one of my favourite episodes of Legend of the Galactic Heroes.

**Author's Note:**

> At the bottom of each chapter, I'll leave small notes. Some are clarifications, some are manga tidbits. Some are just fun notes.
> 
> "French tunnels are always so wonderful and romantic to me. There’s a British show that has a French main character, the tunnels are a recurring plot point and symbolism during the finale, I always liked that touch. Anyway, the Handkerchief is shown in some of his sprites and also the anime. Supposedly, some magician's say that handkerchief can bring you luck. Not present in the manga though, manga Pandora wasn't so fashionable."


End file.
